


Inside a Glass Birdcage

by hubridbunny



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Blood, Cannibalism, Character Death, Character Study, Gen, Violence, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-02-09 11:15:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1980843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hubridbunny/pseuds/hubridbunny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’d misbehaved and now he was being punished for it.</p><p>It had been such a terribly long time since he’d had anything good to eat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inside a Glass Birdcage

His hands twitched with the need to create, to build, to tinker, to rip, to tear, to _rend—_

He had nothing to do these days. They—the other scientists—hadn’t liked it when he had stabbed a screwdriver into the jugular of an annoying researcher.

They had found him twisting about on the floor next to the body while he laughed himself sick, with deliciously tangy blood smeared all over his hands and around his mouth.

He hadn’t had anything that good to eat in a long time.

They had stuck him in this prison cell as punishment. It was left carefully empty, because he had all the intellect of the original and they knew it. He could turn a hairpin into a lock pick, a toothbrush into a knife...

He had turned his fingers, mutilated and covered in his too-bitter blood, into spades.

When they had seen the mangled state of his hands (and the divot he had been steadily digging where the floor met the wall of glass), they were upset. He woke up the next morning to find that someone had wound duct tape around his hands to bind his fingers together. To protect him, they said.

He knew whom it was really meant to protect.

Not that anyone ever came down to his private wing of the solitary confinement sector anymore. Not since Xephos had gotten too close one day and he had torn the spaceman’s throat out. But it’s not like it was that big of a deal anyway—another clone of him was fresh off the conveyor belt before his body hit the floor.

It had been satisfying to take the man by surprise, but his blood was too sweet.

Now the only person he had to call company was the spineless errand boy who was charged with the task of delivering his breakfast and dinner every day.

It tasted awful, never mind that it was all poisoned—laced with sedatives to keep him calm and quiet.

He guessed that it made them upset when he didn't eat it, but no one ever said anything to him about it.

Sometimes just for fun, instead of leaving it on the overhang for the boy to pick up (the only opening in his cage), he would push it back through the slot to make a mess on the floor. He would press his face against the glass and grin at the boy, watching him shake as he hurriedly scrubbed applesauce off the floor with a rag.

He considered tucking the food under his mattress once, just so they would think he ate it, but then he thought about how it would grow old and smell even worse than it already did, and no one would ever dare come inside his cell to clean it. He decided against it.

Today he was lying on his side, facing the wall, examining the patterns that he knew weren't really there on the perfectly blank white stone.

He heard the tray of gruel slide through the slot, followed by the familiar noise of hurried footsteps. The boy ran away each time like he was being chased by a pack of dogs.

He left the food (if it could be called that) to get cold.

He heard the boy come back—had it been eight hours already? He hadn't noticed or moved—and slide his dinner through, taking his untouched breakfast tray with him. The boy had paused before leaving (the sound of his footsteps was delayed by two seconds), and he wondered why. It wasn't like this was the first time he had gone without a meal.

He fell asleep while thinking. He woke up to a slight ache in his back and the sound of several voices.

And the sound of someone tapping the glass.

Tap, tap.

He hated that sound.

Tap, tap.

He whipped around to see several scientists standing around on the other side of the glass, along with the boy who always brought his food and Xephos.

Xephos was tapping the glass.

When they saw that he was awake, everyone stopped talking and Xephos returned his hand to where the other one was held behind his back. “Just wanted to make sure you were still alive. Scott reported that you haven’t been eating, and you haven’t moved in two days.”

He stood up and went over to the glass, pressing his hands against it and glaring at the spaceman.

“You should eat something.” Xephos said as he turned, nodding to the boy—Scott.

His vision blurred with anger. How he wished Xephos was here in this prison with him—this prison _he_ had put him in—so he could bash his face against the glass until he stopped moving.

Scott shakily placed the tray on the platform. He ripped it out of his hands. It flew behind him, clattering as it hit the wall and fell to the floor. He grabbed the boy’s wrists, tugged him forward… and he took Xephos’ advice.

He bit down hard on the boy’s arm, digging his teeth in deeper and deeper until they hit bone. He pulled and ripped the flesh away.

He let the muscle hang from his mouth as he drank the savory blood that ran down his throat.

Scott was bleeding and screaming and everyone was shouting, but he hardly heard any of it. Even as they pulled the boy away and Xephos pulled a syringe from behind his back and stabbed it into his wrist, making his body jolt before going limp and crumpling to the floor, he was smiling—giggling at the sight of red smeared everywhere, and the intoxicating taste and smell of human flesh.

He hadn’t had anything that good to eat in a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> Literally written at 3am after I read every other Lalnable fic I could get my hands on. I’m not sure if I got his character right, but I’m happy with it nonetheless.


End file.
